Circus of The Damned
by InARedDressAndAlone
Summary: Amanda Waller has a mission that only the sticky-fingered Captain can accomplish. He's not being sent out solo, but with a mysterious colleague of Flagg's. Helene "Hell" Butcher is a soldier to her core with some deep, dark secrets. His fate...and a substantial reward are in her hands. Will they survive this devilish mission working together, or will it end in mass bloodshed?
1. Ringmasters

A/N I don't know how OOC my version of the Captain is...less ball out crazy and more calculating. I'm not Mark Twain, so I'm not trying to write him in his accent, either. Hope you guys like, please let me know if I should continue.

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The female guard abruptly slammed her way into his cell, stopping a few steps into the small room. For a few seconds, her tired eyes briefly roamed his almost-naked body. His muscular chest was heaving, a few droplets of sweat tracing the thickness of his torso from the push-ups that were his only entertainment in this box.

"Get dressed. Boss wants you in the yard ASAP," she barked, tossing a jumpsuit at him as he saw the back-up squad of black clad guards stacking up in the doorway.

His fists clenched tightly and the sound of threads popping in the cheap material was audible as he considered defiance.

The guard widened her stance as her hand dropped to her taser. Behind her the group of men pressed forward in anticipation of the violence they expected to erupt.

"We can do this the hard way, or the easy way but the results are going to be the same. Your choice, Captain," she said, heavy sarcasm dripping from her last word.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to master his rage. Defiance ended in pain. Always. The very air was heavy with tension. After a long moment, his hands unclenched and he started slipping his legs into the drab garment. When he zipped it up, the apprehension ratcheted up another notch. Surprising everyone, he turned and calmly placed his wrists behind him for the guard to snap the cuffs on his wrists.

`They led him out of his cell, his stride hampered by the heavy leg restraints. The guards surrounded him in a square formation as they made their way through the grey hallways of Belle Reve. All the sounds of the poor souls interred there echoed around their passage, yelled cursing and banging was the only song in this forsaken place.

After passing through two heavily guarded doors, the last sliding open as the guards tightened their positions around him. Sunlight blazed into the doorway, too bright for eyes so used to constant gloom. He stopped, trying to let his eyes adjust to the unaccustomed brightness. A taser nudged his back in a subtle threat to move on. Chains clanking, he walked out into the brightness. He squinted against the brutal assault on his corneas as he was shoved out and despite his hampered vision he sensed the open space around him.

Sight returning, he found himself in a small yard with a concrete floor and heavy wire covering the sides and roof. It was still a cage, but at least it was open to the wind and sky. He took a deep breath of air not made stale by circulation in a concrete fortress and felt the tight muscles of his neck relax slightly. The sky and sun were a sight he hadn't seen in months.

Turning his attention to the rest of the space, his enjoyment soured as he recognized the other occupants of this potentially slightly pleasant space. Amanda Waller stood there, a stone cold killer in a subdued blue skirt suit, her face a study in neutral blankness. Flanking her was Rick Flagg. They were backed by a small squad of Flagg's heavily armed commandos.

Waller gave him a small, snakelike smile as he was jerked to a stop in front of her; close enough for speech but far enough to give her the illusion of safety. His guard dogs relaxed slightly in the armed presence of the soldiers.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Harkness," Waller said. Flagg snorted from his place by her side. After a cutting the other man a quick glare, she returned her attention to him. Being the center of Amanda Waller's attention was never a good place to be.

"I have a mission for you. During our last operation, proprietary military intelligence and equipment was stolen by Joker's henchmen. You are going to steal it back." she stated flatly.

"Why should I? We saved the fucking world last time, and all I got was thrown back into a stinking fucking hole. What's in it for me?" he asked, loathing clear in every heavily accented word. She met his wrath with a level gaze.

"You don't have a choice here, Harkness. Your skills are the best suited for this task. I would think the idea of a solo mission would peak your interest. And if that's not motivation enough, if you succeed…and survive I will half your sentence. Good behavior is rewarded on Task Force X." she said, pinning him with that cold stare. A slight smirk curled her lips. "If you don't comply, then you are of no further use to me; and I think you know well enough what happens to people who are useless to me."

"Yeah, off with my head. I know." he drawled, rolling his eyes. "You're really going to let me out of this hellhole alone? That's too good to be true, doll. I'm not buying it."

"Not exactly alone," Flagg interjected. "Ain't no way we're letting you loose without some safeguards. There's someone that just arrived who you're gonna get real friendly with, because your life is in their hands. Literally."

There was movement in the group of soldiers behind Flagg as someone separated from the milling group . A small figure in black fatigues moved to the Colonel's side. A black baseball cap shadowed the person's face. Looking up at him was a distinctly feminine visage.

He goggled for a few second, then snorted.

"You're setting me up right perfectly. You really think that lil' shelia is gonna stop me from slipping your damn collar and getting back to my life?" He barked out a laugh. "You've all lost your furry little minds."

Cocking her head, the new arrival looking at him curiously. The shift caused the light to hit her face as she stepped forward. She stopped a foot from him and blatantly scanned from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. The first thing he noticed when he met her gaze was her eyes. He found himself staring into the dark, flat eyes of a predator. The smile she gave him was more a baring of teeth than an expression of emotion. Propping a hand on her hip, the smile morphed into a confident smirk.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Helene Butcher, but you can call me Hell."


	2. Send in the Clowns

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Helene Butcher, but you can call me Hell."

Taking a step back, the woman raked him with another doubtful look, shaking her head as she half-turned to address Flagg.

"THIS is what you're calling in your marker for?" she asked, her voice shaded with incredulousness. Shaking her head, she turned back to the prisoner and propped both hands on her hips.

"Fuck you, lady, and the dick you rode in on." Harkness growled, drawing everyone's attention back to him.

The woman called Hell just laughed, low and husky.

"No thanks, I try not to mix business with pleasure. Thanks for the offer, though," she sniped right back.

Flagg chuckled darkly.

"It's all fun and games 'til she obliterates you from existence, Harkness. Standing in front of you is the elite of the elite. She's the best in the world at what she does. I'd advise you not to annoy her too much," Flagg said.

The big man scoffed.

"Or she'll blow my head off. I got that part."

Hell smiled, a slow lethal expression creeping over her face. Stepping closer to him, she trailed cool fingers down the side of his face, his sideburns rough under her fingertips.

"Oh no, sweetie. Waller would blow your device. Flagg would just put a bullet in your head. Quick and clean. I'd kill you by slow, screaming inches. My record for keeping someone I was interrogating alive is 76 hours, but I'm always striving to top my best times," she said softly, malice glittering in her deep brown eyes.

Leaning back away from her touch, the cool of her skin lingering, he pinned Flagg with another hostile stare.

"Where the fuck do you keep finding these crazy ass fucking women, Flagg?"

"Hell's not crazy, just a little…morally ambiguous." he replied, "but she always gets the job done."

"Harkness, you will work with Ms. Butcher to accomplish this mission. She is your commander, and you will follow her orders like they're Holy Writ." Waller's voice cut in.

"And you, Ms. Butcher, will provide any necessary support for Harkness to accomplish his mission WITHOUT escaping. I want him returned alive. I sincerely hope your reputation is not an overblown exaggeration."

Hell's full attention snapped to the older woman.

"With all due respect, Ms. Waller, I don't work for you. I'm here as a favor to an old friend. I know your reputation as well. Double cross me and you'll see exactly how exaggerated the stories aren't," Hell stated calmly.

"Did you just threaten me?" Waller asked, shock plain on her face.

"No, ma'am. Just stating a simple fact," Hell replied, dead calm as she met the woman's eyes. Waller looked away first.

"Anyway, this is my op now, and I'll run it as I see fit. Have Mr. Harkness and his kit transported to my accommodations. My people will provide security, and we will brief and stage there. We can use the secure uplink to communicate. I'll also expect all pertinent files and records at my disposal."

"Done," Waller nodded and the guards led him back into the darkness. The whole way he felt Hell's gaze on his back, the weight as perceptible as his chains.

Hours later, he was led a different route through the prison and into a garage where a windowless van waited with another contingent of guards. They drove for the better part of an hour, the vehicle bumping roughly over back roads, gravel occasionally pinging off the undercarriage. The four men crowded in the small space seemed uncharacteristically silent and uneasy, and he didn't think it was solely due to his penchant for escapes and violent reputation.

The rumble of gravel gave way to the smoothness of pavement for a few more minutes, the van slowing to a stop. He heard the front door slam and the vague murmur of voices. Inside the metal box of the van, the temperature slowly rose, making the men around him sweat in their heavy body armor.

After what felt like a sweltering eternity, the back doors of the van swung open. The guards climbed out first before aiding him. The first thing that hit him was the thick smell of rotting vegetation and dark water.

Pivoting, he saw Flagg and two other armed men standing at the edge of the parking lot near a rickety looking dock. Late afternoon heat closed around him like a fist, the air dense and damp as wet wool. Just the walk across the pavement caused perspiration to start trickling down his face. In the golden afternoon light, swampland stretched as far as he could see. There was nothing but dark water and cypress trees dripping Spanish moss.

Flagg nodded at the guards.

"I'll take it from here," he said, bending to unlock the shackles.

It took Digger more self control than was pretty not to kick the other man square in his Dudley-do-right face.

Flagg must have sense it, because he paused and looked up, pointing at him, "Behave." he barked.

The two other men shifted, gripping their weapons a little tighter. Transferring his attention to them, he noted the insignia-less camouflage fatigues, battle ready body armor, scarred, well-used weapons, and faces obscured by skull-faced balaclavas and sunglasses.

Tossing the leg restraints at the nearest guard, Rick motioned to the waiting boat. It was an inflatable Zodiac whose muted green color blended in perfectly with the swamp surrounding them. One of the nameless men boarded first, then he was prodded into the small craft.

Once everyone was onboard, one man moved to the outboard motor and the other took up a watch position at the front of the boat as they glided away from the dock with a low rumble of the engines.

"I'm startin' to feel like I been shanghaied into a James Bond movie here, mate," Digger stated, causing Flagg to turn his attention from the landscape to him.

"That's not a far off guess," Rick replied.

"So you gonna tell me what the deal is with this new bitch? She ain't as fucked in the head as Harley, is she? Cuz mate, I have to tell you I can't deal with another one," he stated as he leaned back and extended his legs as much as he could, trying to get comfortable in the small space. Rick sighed.

"Helene is not crazy. Definitely not as crazy as Harley, but without a doubt more dangerous. The first day I met her, she beat the dog shit out of a Force Recon Marine. It took six grown men to pull her off, and that was before…" he stopped himself.

"Before what?" Digger asked.

"When she was still just regular Army. She may look small and non-threatening, but don't let that fool you. She's fast as fuck, stronger than she looks, and absolutely vicious. Then there is the genius level IQ. Hell has a large repertoire of tricks, all of them nasty. Graduated West Point at the top of her class on an accelerated program. Long story short, just work with her, don't piss her off, and you might live to fight another day."

Digger still looked skeptical.

"What, so she's some kind of fuckin' superwoman? You're just yankin' my chain, mate, playin' mind games so I'll be on my best behavior, right?"

"You'll see," Flagg replied, "Hell is gonna have a field day with you." With a small shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the swamp around them as the waterway they were traversing got progressively smaller. Overhead, the tree limbs almost connected, giving the appearance of a vividly green tunnel.

About ten minutes passed as they slipped through the small, twisting waterways. Occasionally there were snakes sunning themselves on tree branches like living bunting. A few times he caught sight of alligators cutting through the murky waters. No one spoke over the purr of the motor and the sounds of the wildlife.

As they swung around a sharp bend, Digger nudged Flagg again.

"So, did ya fuck her? Back in the day? I couldn't tell much under that uniform, but what I could see wasn't bad," he asked, a leer in his voice.

"Jesus fucking christ, Harkness! No, I did not," he said, surprise and distaste mingling in his tone. "Some of us can actually work with women and not think about fucking them every second."

"You keep telling yourself that, mate. I bet it crossed your mind at least once."

"One more outburst and so help me, Digger, I'm gonna feed your sorry ass to the gators and damn the consequences."

The big man just chuckled, his gold tooth flashing in the deepening gloom.

Rounding another curve, they caught sight of another dock, this one is better repair with a trail leading away from it. After pulling up and tying off, he was helped none-to-gently off the boat and pointed up the trail. One of the commandos was in front of him, with Flagg behind and the last guy as tail-end Charlie. The trail wound uphill slightly, and was paved with crushed shells and neatly manicured. They'd gone about three quarters of a mile when they broke the tree line onto a manicured lawn.

Digger paused as he caught sight of the restored plantation house, whistling in appreciation only to have Flagg shove his shoulder from behind.

"You ain't here to rob the place, Harkness," he snarked.

"Fuck off, ya cunt"

About the time they reached the gracious entrance, one of the massive double doors swung open and Hell stepped out. She still wore black fatigue pants and black tee shirt, but her combat boots were missing. Barefoot, she moved silently and gracefully to meet them.

"You're dismissed until your watch tonight," she said, nodding to the soldiers. They peeled off and disappeared around the side of the building. Neither of them had uttered a single word the entire trip.

"Unchain him," she said to Flagg.

"You sure?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"He's one damn man. There's an entire armed team here, one that I trained personally. I think we can handle it," she said, her voice still that husky alto.

"And just in case you get frisky," she as she turned her attention to him, "there's a sniper on the roof with a .50 cal. He's one of the best, and I wouldn't test him if I were you. Plus, we're surrounded by acres and acres of untamed bayou. Not good odds."

He grinned at her.

"I think you're underestimating me, doll."

"No, but I wish I didn't think the reverse was true," she replied.

Flagg stepped behind him to unlock his cuffs and he took the opportunity to get a closer look at the woman. She was short, but not exactly petite. He could still detect what he was pretty sure was a very curvy figure through her uniform. Her skin was a dusky shade of copper, even down to the slim, bare feet. Her top showcased tan, muscular arms and hinted at the possibility of tits to match those rounded hips.

Forcibly pulling his attention away from the mysteries of her chest, he watched her watch Flagg. She had a heart-shaped face with a stubborn chin, and small, regular features that while attractive enough, weren't spectacularly beautiful. Her lips were small and bow-shaped, their deep rose color seemed natural. If she was wearing a drop of makeup, he couldn't tell it.

High cheekbones accented both lips and those big, liquid dark eyes that were framed by long lashes and dark, strong brows. Her hair, which was pulled back tightly off her face, was as crow-black as her eyes. Those eyes turned back to him as the cuffs came free.

She stepped forward and extended her hand.

"Let's try this again. My name is Hell, nice to meet you."

He took her hand in his, surprised by both the coolness of her touch and the strength in that small appendage.

"George Harkness, but you can call me Digger, love."

"If you don't need me, I'm going to head back," Flagg interrupted. She nodded.

"I'll see you at 0600 for the briefing."

"Come on in, and I'll show you to your room," she said, turning to open the door.

He followed her into a large, open foyer dominated by a huge, intricately carved staircase. Trailing her up the stairs was no hardship, he thought as he enjoyed the view.

She passed by several doors on the upper floor before stopping at one near the end.

"Your gear is already here. There's a bathroom connected if you want to shower and get cleaned up. When you get done, come back downstairs and follow the hallway to the end. There will be food in the kitchen, and I'll meet you on the back verandah when you're finished," she instructed as she opened the door for him.

He couldn't hear her retreating footfalls but sensed he was alone as he looked around the large room. It was furnished with obviously expensive antiques and done up in navy blue and grey. The bed was positively enormous by his current standards, and he was almost afraid to touch anything.

Forty-five minutes and a very long, pleasant shower later he wandered downstairs, drawn by the promise of food. After padding barefoot down the cool hall, he found himself in a large, homey kitchen. Glancing around, he almost groaned aloud at the spread of food set out. There was a large platter of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits, and a few different sides. Grabbing one of the plates stacked beside the food, he sat down and devoured the best meal he'd had in a very long time. It was only after three heaping plates and a slab of the luscious coconut cake he'd also discovered that he was satisfied. Taking a minute, he looked around at his dramatically changed surroundings. The gorgeous house, the good food…it all was too good to be true. Despite knowing that, feeling it deep in his gut, he made the decision to enjoy it while he could.

A whiff of smoke reached him through the back screened door that framed a pretty view of the bayou. Curiosity aroused, he went to find its source.

Opening the door, he found Hell lounging in a rocking chair, staring out at the sunset over the water, a cigar in one hand and a tumbler of amber liquid in the other.

"Drink's are over there, pick your poison," she said, waving her hand at the wet bar tucked into a nook. He grabbed a beer and flopped ungracefully into the chair beside her as he popped open his beer and took a deep drink.

"The grub was amazing, haven't had the like in a long time."

"Thanks," she said, her eyes never moving from the colorful sky.

"You cooked all that?" he asked, surprised. She finally looked at him.

"I'm a woman of many talents," she said, reaching over to offer him a smoke. He took it, and they sat and sipped and smoked in silence until the rim of the sun finally disappeared under the horizon.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, secrets are my business. Well, secrets and murder. But today I did turn up something very interesting, she finally said, breaking the peaceful quiet of the deepening evening.

A large packet of papers thumped onto the table between them. He leaned over to take a closer look and his guts froze inside him. For a few minutes, shock paralyzed him as he stared at the Australian Defense Force logo that was underscored by a large, bold 'classified' mark.

The file that had changed his life. The file that wasn't supposed to exist anymore.


End file.
